Open Cat and Mouse

[Zenobia]

14th of Winter 513 In the Old Quarter Just before midnight Sailors were not known for their intellectual prowess, but Zenobia had one thing to say for her regular sailor client, Lorenio. His physical attributes aside, he did know what was going on in Zeltiva's political circle, and Zenobia felt that that night had been more than informative. Now it was time to slip into the night and return to her apartment over a bar on East Street. If she played her cards right, she wouldn't have to live there much more. One of her rich clients was interested in setting her up properly and, manipulations aside, the idea wholly appealed to her new found desire for stability. It was really a very cold night and Zenobia was amusing herself watching her breath flow out like mist in the night. She supposed it was like when you smoke, except she couldn't blow smoke rings with hot breath on cold air. She tried with determination but she was likewise quite sure that the laws of physics would not allow it. Alone in the dark, walking back to her apartment, she thought about how different her position and time in Zeltiva was compared to her last winter spent there, two years before. When she was a playwright and student with wealthy, affluent parents, and now her parents had suddenly packed up shop and left, she had lived more than a year in Sunberth, earned herself a scar - a knife wound - across her left shoulder and now could only make money living on her back. Who could believe that so many things would happen in so little time. Life really was a series of swings and roundabouts. Zenobia pulled her heavy cloak closer around her, completely covering the exotic wrappings which she wore underneath. They were certainly not the sort of clothes one would wish to wander around Zeltiva wearing. This reminded her of a story her mother used to tell her as a child, a moral fable about a cat that died of cold. Although she couldn't really remember the details, or indeed the storyline, she now realised that it was probably warning against exactly what she was doing now - being the cat - but what did that entail? She certainly couldn't remember. Maybe it had something to do with mice, or a game of cat and mice. If so, was she the cat or the mouse? The hunter or the prey? And in what manner of game? Petch - the cold certainly had dulled her brain into the sort of stupor one might expect when inebriated. Why hadn't she worn a hat? She had always been warned that a simple hat was very useful in keeping warm since heat escaped through the head. Or maybe that was an urban myth... Zenobia really had no idea.

[Stitchens Plint]

It was a cold night, a bit too cold to sit around inside, huddled up against a burning hearth. No, it was nights like this he took to the streets for an extended run. He had dressed in a sleeveless shirt, long pants and his normal shoes. A normal attire he would have used for a sunny day. Slipping the key to his home in his pocket, he promptly exited the warmth and entered the biting cold. Stitchens started with a few stretches, mainly for his legs but he did not leave out the muscles of his abdomen, chest or arms before finishing with a shorter session for his legs. The flow of blood was enough to fight back against the cold in most parts of his body, save his nose and fingers. Clinching his hands into fists, he contemplated wearing a jacket for a moment... Maybe if it were any colder, he assured himself. With his body loosened and the blood already pumping nicely, he started off at a jog. It was pleasant to feel the cold against his skin where usually it was hot, sticky sweat that just made the exercising less enjoyable. The euphoria from physical exertion was mild, most might not even notice it, but he could. Why else would he have worked so hard in bodybuilding, even though he abhorred the appearance of a brute it offered? After his legs felt nice and relaxed with every extended step, he began lengthening his strides, quickening his legs, pumping his arms until he was somewhere between a casual run and a full sprint. He knew to some he might appear as a criminal fleeing the scene of some unknown crime, but he did not care. Perhaps if stopped, a guard would recognize the healer? That, or the truth of his intentions for the night would be taken at face value... His mind wandered over thoughts like this for the better part of a bell. When his path through the streets took him from west street down towards the docks, he offered up a polite wave to one of the passing guards. Though he earned a look, Stitchens was obviously not worth the effort of following. The slightly echoing sound of his feet pounding the path continued on on his journey around the docks with only the knowledge of Guards on duty. Most others would not dare be out at night. He just happened to be one of the few who knew the dangers and lacked fear (or common sense) to listen to them.

[Quiarinox]

It was cold, even for Quiarinox, dressed in resplendent, worn, frayed, aged clothing that was nothing like what she liked to keep herself in, when she was worth something, when she had a life to manage and run with an iron fist. Ravok, Lhavit, those were the cities she loved, the cities she found herself somewhat at home, as strange as the concept had become. Long fingers, thin and white as bone, clasped the edges of her cloak about the frame that was too long for it. Where a head might be tilted back with pride and dark eyes that held secrets may shimmer with loathing and arrogance, the crowned Ethaefal bowed herself. Shrunken. Thin. Unlike anything else she saw here, an Ethaefal unmoored even from the Synaborn that made Lhavit so unkind and bright. She had diminished in her time in Zeltiva, too poor to afford most of what she had consumed in comfort, too proud to work for the money to earn her keep. Not homeless, though. No, her home was an inn. Not starving, either, for the nights that were cloudless provided the sustenance she needed. Leth still provided. Leth still cared. Rhysol was quiet, but Leth was there. The scar at the back of her neck seemed to react to the thought, the doubt of Rhysol that worried at her faith in him and his protection, and her body reacted by sending a shiver to crawl her spine. No, maybe Rhysol was not there, maybe there was no voice in her head, no presence to judge her, but he was always present anyway. Yes, that was reassuring. Quiarinox was reassured and the chill that had bitten her skin seemed to become somewhat distant, now. A problem that she could overlook, maybe? The temperature at the docks was much colder than Quiarinox ever remembered it being when she had first come to Zeltiva, on the arm of her husband. Of course, it hadn't been Winter that time. She had been happier that time, as well. She remembered the children, splashing in the shallows down the beach, the white caps as they crashed ashore, and the sound of hungry birds. Before she could devolve into a depressive fit and pause to stare over the waves of an unfathomable sea, she caught the distinct sound of running, and paused. Her head raised and eyes even darker than the horns which crowned her head sparked with life, the flat onyx gleaming against the porcelain skin and hair. She couldn't help it. She had to pursue. She started off, her hands releasing their grasp upon her cloak, letting the old thing flare like the wings of some big animal as she stalked. The cat to the mouse. Perhaps too caught up in her chase, or maybe it was the distraction suffered by the other party, Quiarinox's fun came to an abrupt halt when she collided with someone else in these streets, normally so empty to allow a lost child her chance to reconnect with her father. The Ethaefal stumbled and almost tripped, but caught her balance before something so horribly unfortunate befell her. She straightened and cast about her gaze, ire darkening her expression as she settled upon a shorter woman. "Watch your step," tye Ethaefal almost hissed her words before catching herself, transforming her scowl into a strained expression of dismay. Her hands which had become claws tensed before she relaxed them, although the tension remained in her stance, an unspoken signal that she was on edge. "We don't want anything unfortunate to happen, do we? It would be such a shame." Never so kind in reality, the tickle in her throat ached as her scar did. She was flexing a muscle rarely used as she cast the unfamiliar tones of a curse. Misfortune upon you, she spoke with her intent. She gave the woman a once-over and forgot the steps she had been curious about. Why chase when something wandered into her?

[Malus Tidalwave]

It was a cold night. Much colder than what Malus was used to out on the Suvan, but the wine was helping him to ignore it. In what might be considered a rare occurrence, Malus was actually fully clothed; wearing trousers, shoes and his long sleeved shirt, all at the same time, and his hair, normally tied back was set free, covering the side of his head and reaching down to his shoulders, providing some measure of warmth. Normally, on such nights as this, Malus could be found back on his casinor, with the others; but tonight, inspiration struck him.

He sat on a crate, back leaning against a wall, somewhere near east street, a few blocks from a bar where he had just filled his wineskin. Taking a swig of wine from said wineskin, which was already a quarter empty, He sat there, enjoying the warm tickling sensation that the wine gave him on this cold night. Already feeling a slight light headed he began to pluck at his guitar. At first nothing cohesive, just some random notes, but soon a melody found its way to the strings.

Malus played softly, in what he thought was appropriate to match the mood of the night, letting not the strength of his fingers carry the sound, but the stillness of the night. It carried nicely, he thought to himself, half smiling in his slightly inebriated state.
He continued playing his guitar, letting the music flow from it into the night.

Secret :

A Midnight Melody

[Quiarinox]

The silence that overcame this encounter grew awkward, even for the Ethaefal that insisted on drawing out painful social gatherings. Her eyes narrowed, the hard obsidian glittering dangerously as she looked this woman over, up and down, before curling her lip dismissively and turning. What fun would come from that? She loathed to be bored, or ignored, and this boded ill for her amusement.

That curse should be a nice enough gift.

Muttering an epithet as she wandered away, caring little where the woman went, the tall Ethaefal discarded the thing as being a slight of whatever god of fate there happened to be out there. She thought to return to the sea, to stare out over the glassy surface that reminded her of a more tumultuous time in her life. A lot could be gleaned from watching the moon's light reflect from the surface of a roiling sea. Peace, in particular, from the stormy thoughts she possessed. However, she was distracted from this particular task by the sound of music. What an interesting city tonight! So many intriguing sounds to investigate, although the running footsteps had faded into silence and she had to assume their cause had entered one of the looming buildings.

Shaking her head now, Quiarinox turned and then cocked her crowned head, the horns glistening under Leth as if they had been wet, when in fact, they were dry. She couldn't figure it out for sure, but she went in the direction that it seemed the sound was coming from. The music sounded bawdy and human, so very distinctively human, and she was so very intrigued as to the musician. Eventually, she found him, and she lurked in the lip of an alley, dark eyes glistening as she took him in from his boots to his guitar.

Eventually, near the end of the song, Quiarinox emerged from the shadows and gave the man applause, nearing at a slower pace than she would have normally. She stopped, well out of reach of his grasp (one bit of unwanted contact from a lesser was more than enough for her night), and she inclined her head in some form of noble greeting. "Play another!" Her exclamation came earnestly, maybe even genuinely. It was no secret to herself that she enjoyed most forms of artistry, except perhaps sculpting, and she wanted to hear more of this.

[Malus Tidalwave]

His eyes were closed as he played, enjoying the music and the sensations of the cold night. As such, he completely missed the arrival of a one person audience. Letting the final notes of the song die out, he was surprised to hear applause, and quickly jerked his eyes open, turning his head to see its source. As the myriad sea glass and shells decorating his hair settled down, Malus smiled as he spotted a rather tall woman as she approached him. Every musician likes to be appreciated, and Malus was no different. He hopped off the crate he was sitting on; guitar in one hand, wineskin on the other, and bowed at the waist. His inebriation caused him to exaggerate the movement, and he waved his arm out of him as a flourish, but also to help him keep his balance.

“I had known I would be having an audience, I would have worn a better shirt!” He explaimed, a playful smile on his lips.

The woman walked closer to him, stopping a short distance away."Play another!” he heard her say. He laughed lightheartedly at the request, and after taking quick sip of wine, asked in somewhat broken common “What would you like to hear?....something….fast?” he picked up the guitar and played a few rapid notes on a rising scale.

“Or perhaps something more….Soothing?” once more, he plucked the strings on his guitar producing a slower, more soulful melody.

Malus stood there, with his hands on is guitar, ready to play what his one person audience requested.